The Ghosts of Who We Were. 133.1

A road untraveled—
Footsteps fading in the wind,
Would you still take the same path?

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The Letter Left Unsent

He found the note in a drawer he hadn’t opened in years. Folded neatly, yellowed at the edges, the ink slightly smudged as if someone had once held it too tightly. He didn’t need to open it to know what it said.

He had written it to himself at seventeen. A letter for the future, scrawled in restless handwriting, back when time felt endless and the weight of adulthood was still something he could pretend wasn’t coming.

He unfolded it anyway.

“I hope we made it. I hope we figured things out. Tell me—did we become who we wanted to be?”

The words hit like an old song, the kind that makes you remember too much.

What would he tell that kid now, all these years later? Would he lie, say that everything turned out fine? That life had a way of making sense?

Or would he tell the truth?

That life had been beautiful and brutal in ways he never could have imagined. That some of his dreams had come true, and others had crumbled into dust. That he had learned, slowly and painfully, that the things he once thought mattered—recognition, perfection, proving himself—didn’t mean a damn thing.

That the real battle was never about becoming someone.

It was about learning to live with the parts of yourself you couldn’t change.

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What I Would Tell Him Now

We like to think of time as a straight line. A past version of us walking forward, evolving, growing, becoming something new. But it’s not.

Time loops back. The ghosts of who we were never really leave. They linger in half-forgotten memories, in late-night regrets, in the parts of ourselves that still ache for things we lost.

And maybe that’s why we always feel like we’re running toward something, or running away from it.

But if I could sit across from him—seventeen, lost, too much fire in his chest and too much fear in his hands—I wouldn’t give him the answers.

I’d just tell him this:

• You are not broken. There is nothing wrong with feeling too much or not knowing where you belong. The world will try to fix you, but don’t let it. Some things are meant to stay untamed.
• No one cares as much as you think they do. The things that keep you up at night—the mistakes, the embarrassments, the failures—will be forgotten by everyone except you. Let them go.
• You will lose people. Sometimes suddenly, sometimes slowly, sometimes because life is cruel and sometimes because you let them go. It will hurt, but it will not break you.
• Nothing lasts, and that is not a tragedy. The things you love will change. The things you fear will change. You will change. And that’s the whole point.
• The only life you will ever have is the one happening right now. Don’t waste it waiting to feel ready. You never will.

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Wabi-Sabi and the Art of Imperfect Time

Wabi-sabi teaches us that nothing is perfect, nothing is permanent, nothing is finished.

And maybe that’s the real lesson. That we will never be complete, and that’s okay. That we will always wonder what could have been, and that’s okay. That the version of us from ten years ago would not recognize who we are now, and that is exactly how it’s supposed to be.

The mistake is thinking that we should have known better.

But we did the best we could with what we knew.

And we are still here.

That has to count for something.

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The Note, the Past, the Answer He Already Knew

He folded the letter, placed it back in the drawer, and closed it without locking it this time.

Outside, the world moved on—cars rolling by, people talking on the street, a distant laugh echoing down the alley. Life, continuing.

He didn’t need to write another letter to his future self.

He already knew what it would say.

“Keep going. You’re doing just fine.”